Crash

Now that we can count our remaining days in Bolivia on our fingers, it's obvious that we're going to go out with more of a bang than a whimper.

On our way home from one of our farewell parties, when we were just five blocks from home, a taxi crashed into us on our left rear fender. I immediately stopped the car (blocking in the taxi) and swooped down on the driver of the offending taxi – Leslie hopped out of her side of the car and took up a flanking position in front of the taxi. All the driver of the other car could say was that he just wanted to make a left turn and that the crash wasn’t his fault and that maybe the crash was his fault but that he really didn’t hurt our car. I got him out of his car so he could really see the damage that he’d caused, up close and personal, and then I realized that he was drunk – well, that explained a lot. He didn’t have a driver’s license or insurance and when I was noting down his car’s license plate number he hopped into his taxi and tried to flee, but Leslie threw herself in front of his car and wouldn’t let him escape. Then I escorted him as he moved his car out of the middle of the road, over to the curb, and got him out of his car so he couldn’t attempt to run away again. It was all I could do to not pound him into the ground; it’s been a long time since I really smacked anyone, but it was a very near thing just then. I was so mad! Four years of dodging traffic in La Paz without so much as a scratch and now this in our last two weeks!

I looked over to the next intersection where there’s a traffic light which is manned by a traffic officer, but since it was already 11:00 at night the policeman had already gone home. I didn’t have my cell phone with me so I couldn’t call anyone – I was really at a loss of what to do. A couple of other taxi drivers, who were sober and who had witnessed the crash, were very helpful. One offered to drive Leslie down to the police station to bring back the traffic police while I secured our culprit, so that’s what we did. So while Leslie went and fetched the police, I listened to our drunk driver explain that he’d get our broken (plastic) mud guards “welded” just like new. The remaining (sober) taxi driver kept telling our drunk to just pay me for the damage so he could avoid going to jail, but our villain didn’t have a single peso on him. Since the police station is only seven blocks from the crash site it wasn’t very long before Leslie got back with the police in their little green and white Volkswagen Beetle with a red light on top. Having done her part Leslie walked on home while I explained to the policemen what had happened. Then we all had to go down to the police station to fill out the paperwork. I used to think that it was an advantage to have a diplomatic drivers’ license, but these days, with the new anti-foreigner government (even those who are donor nations), I’m not so sure. Even so, the police seemed to do their job in a professional manner, took down all of the data, and then had me witness as the offending driver was administered a breathalyzer test (the results were 2.01 – whatever that means.) Back home I called my insurance company and made a report.

The next morning, on Sunday, I got a call from the drunk guy - ?! – he said that he wanted to come to my house to talk to me. I put him off until the afternoon because we have church in the morning, but I was dismayed that he had my phone number. I had made a rookie error in giving the police my home address and phone number – you’d think that someone with ten years of experience living overseas would know enough to not trust the police. I should have given them my office address and phone number (I guess I’m a slow learner.) While we spent the whole morning at church I worried that the guy had my home address too and was going to break in to the house and take out his frustrations on our personal effects. But, back home after church, we found everything still locked up tight and nothing out of place. That afternoon I agreed to meet the man at my office (not at home – I’m slow but not stupid.) At the office I took comfort in the presence of the armed police sergeant who provides our security; before my visitor showed up I took an opportunity to fill in my policeman on what had happened. When the taxi driver and his wife arrived at my office, I kept them out in the parking lot, with my car to use as a visual aid and my policeman to be the “bad cop.” Actually, in the light of day and away from the heat of the moment, I noted that the now less-drunk taxi driver was a very little pathetic man and I felt sorry for him, but told him that there was nothing to discuss because I hadn’t spoken to the insurance, or to a body shop and didn’t have any information yet.

The next day (Monday) I took the car into Toyota for a quote – they’d have to import the replacement parts from Japan, which would take at least 35 days. Since I only had two weeks left in Bolivia that wasn’t going to do me any good. Even so, the following day (Tuesday) I took the quote down to the police station, to comply with the requirements of the law, and paid them my 50Bs. for the official police report to the insurance company. The drunk guy and his wife begged me not to submit the claim to the insurance company because he didn’t have any money and he was afraid that the insurance company was going to take it out of his hide. I told him that I knew that he didn’t have any money, which was why I was making a claim to the insurance company rather than directly against him. But he wouldn’t quit; he and his wife followed me back to the office and I had to have our policeman send them off. That day I made the mistake of walking to lunch with my local engineers as usual because the drunk guy and his wife followed us along the way; this time the guy asked me to give him the damaged parts off my car so he could go find the replacements. I told him that I wasn’t giving him anything and that we were done talking because it was up to the insurance company what was going to happen. When he wouldn’t cease or desist, my engineers interposed themselves and sent him on his way. It’s obvious that this drunk guy is not going to be able to pay for any of the damage that he’s caused and he doesn’t have any insurance, and my local insurance is going to be too slow to help me out in the next week or so, so I’ll be stuck with repairing my car when I get to the States. I’m just glad that no one was hurt, the car still works, and that the repairs are not more extensive. So, even though I’m not happy about the crash, I feel blessed that it all worked out as well as it did.

And since no one wants to see a photo of a crashed car, I've attached another photo that I took in the Galapagos. All I can figure is that these two gulls must be brothers, and the little brother is on the bottom.